Him and Her
by Aussieflower
Summary: 'She baffled him. Confused him to no end. He didn't understand. And that was very new.He couldn't stand it.'   A story about Irene and Sherlock, how they felt about eachother, and how and why Sherlock rescued her. Rated T possibly for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello guys! As of recent I have become completely Sherlock addicted. I loved series one, but series two just blew me off my feet! I loved how they explored Sherlock's sexuality and his feelings through Irene and thought that a scandal in belgravia was the best episode to date.**

**I am now a HUGE Irene/Sherlock shipper, and I have created my own fantasy world where they do finally ****acknowledge ****their feelings for one another. Of course, their relationship is so incredibly complex and complicated that some people might argue that they're not actually in love, and that its just admiration, because Sherlock doesn't **_**do**_** love. I think that's perfectly possible, but I prefer them being lovers, at least in my little world.**

**This is dedicated to all you Irene/Sherlock shippers out there.**

**Oh, and this basically details Sherlock's feelings through the episode, and Irene#s too at the end. I am planning on putting more chapters up as soon as I can.**

**(oh, and I've used quotes rfom the episode, but I cut a lot of text. I hope that it won't confuse anybody).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or the BBC. All quotes are taken from the episode A Scandal in Belgravia.**

**Laura **

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She baffled him. Confused him to no end.

He didn't understand. And that was very new.

He couldn't stand it.

He could always immediately tell something about a person, whether they were right handed or left handed, whether or not they drank or smoked, how old they were and what kind of life they led.

But he couldn't tell anything about her.

He tore his eyes away from her naked body, Mycroft's remark about sex echoing in his ears. He made himself turn away and tied to focus his mind on other things. Unfortunately, it didn't help when she stood up and walked over to John, who tried very hard to stay focused on her face.

'That's exactly why I don't think about women that way' Sherlock thought to himslef, as he watched John blush slightly. He shrugged off his coat and offered it to her, and was secretly glad that she took it.

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He kept hearing her voice after the drug took hold of him, and that only baffled him more. Why her? He never thought of women this way, he had _never_ thought of them this way. Woman were nice sometimes (look at Mrs Hudson) and some were pretty, but did any of that truly _matter_?

But Irene was different from other women. She was quick witted, and she was clever and smart. With a simple look or an arched eyebrow she could challenge all of his beliefs and deductions.

But at the same time she wasn't gentle or trustworthy. She had knocked him out with a drug and slapped him with a riding crop without seeming to care, and she hadn't seemed concerned about how he would manage at all. She had simply disappeared, after their whole united fight against the CIA agents, without a second thought.

An erotic sounding moan made him pause. He stared at the place where his coat was hanging (_when_ had she given it back to him?) and he fished his phone out of the pocket. The text he found there confused him, but it made him smile. She fascinated him.

Days passed, and he still couldn't take his mind off her. He couldn't believe how inconvenient it all was. How did other people manage to _think_ clearly when someone dominated their minds like this? But strangely, though it annoyed him and angered him, he liked it. It was all so new, but seeing her face behind his eye lids, hearing her voice when he didn't understand something kept him going.

He decided not to change his text ringtone. He could have, easily, a touch of a button would have done it, but he liked it. It was so her, somehow, sarcastic and witty, but at the same time bordering on the dangerous and completely on the improper. Only she would do something like that, and the thought amused him. He got so used to the tone that he forgot that people like John, Mycroft and Lestrade didn't know about it. When they asked, he would simply act as if this were a perfectly normal ringtone. He was aware of the looks everybody gave him; they all saw him as a serious man who never noticed women that way.

He liked to surprise people.

He liked surprising himself.

But even he couldn't quite imagine the devastation that settled on him when he realised that she was dead. How could he? He'd never felt this way before, and there was a very limited number of people he was close to.

Looking at the corpse was worse. Seeing her face, white and still, made him stop short. He couldn't believe this was her-no sarcastic remarks, no arched eyebrows; no glittering eyes. He quietly asked to see the rest of her body, see _her_ one last time.

It was definitely Irene.

He turned on his heel and walked out, unable to understand the feelings building up inside him.

He returned to Baker Street, but everything seemed duller somehow.

"**You barely knew her." **

Mycroft was right, he thought to himself. He had known her less than a day, but she intrigued him like no other woman. He read through all their old text messages, smiling slightly at her audacity and humour. Without a word, he picked up his violin. Composing helped him think. Hopefully, he would get this woman out of his head.

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She was alive.

She had faked her own death.

But that didn't matter.

She was there, living, breathing; _flirting_.

With him.

He was consumed in his thoughts as he walked back to Baker Street. He felt confused. Confused about his feelings towards her. And he felt annoyed-extremely annoyed. And furious.

She had tricked _him_.

Tricked Sherlock Holmes into believing that she had died.

But the other part of him felt blissfully happy.

He wasn't sure if he would see her again, but he knew she was there somewhere.

Still sending him text messages. He smiled at the thought.

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He could see that John was concerned about him when he got home, so he acted as if nothing had happened. He simply played his violin and let go of everything else.

'Happy New Year' he texted her, smiling slightly to himself.

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He wasn't the least annoyed when he saw her sleeping in his bed. He almost smiled. Her hair was loose and curly, and her face was scrubbed clean of makeup. She looked peaceful.

And then there was the stunt with the phone.

He was impressed. Very impressed.

Cracking the code had been surprisingly easy, even with her lips at his ear and her perfume surrounding him.

He was surprisingly comfortable sitting with her by the fire. Even with her ongoing innuendos.

"**If this was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"**

That statement made him stop. Because he didn't know. He had no idea. He knew exactly what she was suggesting, and he understood exactly what would happen if he would say yes.

But he didn't have an answer. Except for that tiny little incident at her house, he had never really thought of her physical body-it was her wit, daring, courage and audacity that fascinated him.

But that's all it was, wasn't it? Just fascination, just intrigue, not anything beyond that?

Looking into her eyes, feeling her touch, his heart sped up, just a little. But he kept his face impassive.

"It's not the end of the world" he whispered quietly, as he heard Mrs Hudson come up the stairs. He let her go and the spell was broken.

Later, he realised what she had wanted to achieve with the conversation. What she had managed to achieve.

She had tricked him.

Again.

And she had made a fool out of him.

"**Mr Homes, I think we need to talk."**

"**So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on".**

His tone was low and threatening, but at the same time he realised the truth of his statement. He wasn't clear on a lot of aspects. For example his feelings for her. Or how she had managed to make him feel this way. Or how she felt about him.

But she brushed past him, as if he were a meaningless object standing in her way. Her posture changed, her tone changed, to the point where it almost shocked him. He looked at her, making sure that no emotion showed. He didn't want her to see.

But then she started comparing him to Moriarty. Making it seem as if their whole acquaintance had been simple and fleeting, with no emotion on her part. Just trickery.

"No" he said. She could insist that she had been playing him all along, but he had one last card left, one last little bit of proof that she was lying.

"I took your pulse" he whispered to her. His lips were at her ear, his breath ghosting her skin and his finger gently tracing the skin on her wrist. He felt her pulse speed up and smiled to himself.

"Dilated" he continued quietly, looking into her eyes. "You pupils are dilated."

Needing no further proof he drew back, smiling inwardly at the effect he had just had on her. He picked up her phone from where she had left it, confident that he had cracked the passcode.

"This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head". He saw it in her eyes now, the slow realisation. The sentence needed to be applied to both of them. They had both played, and in a sense they had both lost. They had both outwitted each other, and they had both been even. But now he was on the winning side.

"I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage" he breathed. "Thank you for the final proof".

"Everything I said, it's not real." She said. Her last effort to convince him that she didn't care for him. "I was just playing the game."

Their faces were so close now, dangerously close. Both Sherlock and Irene knew that she was lying; that she was fooling herself.

"I know" he whispered, as he pressed the final button on her phone. "And this is just losing."

The code appeared on the screen. He held the phone up to her, and saw the unshed tears in her eyes. She was trying to make him believe that she hadn't ever cared for him. But she was also desperately trying to fool herself. Sherlock decided to do the same.

He heard her fear, and he knew the same she did. She wouldn't last without her protection.

"Please" she said, in a voice filled with hopelessness and fear. She looked at him, knowing she had tricked herself. She cared for this man, genuinely cared for him. It wasn't the body or the sex that fascinated her-it was something completely different, and a feeling she hadn't experienced in a very very long time.

But he ignored her; he wouldn't even look at her.

"You're right." She said. He had been right, all along, it wasn't just a game between them, it was attraction, probably even love. She felt Mycroft's eyes on the back of her head. "I wouldn't even last six months" she said.

Sherlock finally turned around. "Sorry about dinner" he said, and for one second, for one tiny short second, she saw something flash in his eyes. Fear? Regret? Anger? Loss? She couldn't tell. But she knew. It all came crashing down on her. She knew he would simply leave her. And it was all her own fault.

Sherlock walked out of the room. He wasn't sure what was worse: Seeing her dead and believing it or possibly sending her to her death.

They had played the game.

And they had both lost.

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**Thank you very much for reading and please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again**

**Thank you for the reviews. **

**This is a small "in between" type chapter, without any action. It shows how Sherlock leaves baker Street for Irene and details some of his confusion and feelings. Hope you enjoy x**

**It's set about a month after the last chapter.**

"I have to go somewhere" Sherlock announced. John looked up, surprised, from the table.

'Blogging again' Sherlock thought, rolling his eyes. He turned away, heading towards his room, his suitcase already packed.

"Sherlock!" John called through the living room. When he realised that Sherlock was ignoring him he groaned and got up. Sherlock was dear to him, and he was genuinely concerned about his wellbeing after what had happened with Irene, but he was still annoying.

He found Sherlock in his room, arranging his socks. "Sorry" he said, in a tone he often used when he couldn't believe Sherlock was doing something stupid or strange or dangerous. "But _where_ and _when_ exactly are you going?"

Sherlock seemed slightly restless. "Just away" he said simply, zipping his suitcase shut with a flourish.

"Away?"

"Yes".

John shook his head, wishing Sherlock would just tell him. "When are you going?" he asked, hoping Sherlock would at least answer this question.

"In about ten minutes" Sherlock replied nonchalantly, looking for his scarf.

John closed his eyes. "Right…and you thought that right now would be the best time to tell me, did you?"

"Problem?"

"Yes!" John finally replied, very annoyed. "I have absolutely no idea where you're going, how long you're staying there and why you're going! Seeing that I am your friend, I should at least have some basic information-and don't give me that look!" he added hastily. "_I_ can't deduct your travel destination by your suitcase."

Sherlock smiled slightly, but it was the first smile John had seen appear on his face since the whole Irene Adler disaster.

"It's never too late to try John!" he said, and lugged his suitcase into the living room. John followed him, exasperated.

"Could you at least tell me _where_ you're going? Or why?"

Sherlock turned around and shook his head. John wouldn't understand. It was time for role play.

"I just…need to get away. It's all so…_dull_ here, and I just need a bit of a change. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but a few days, possibly a little over a week…maybe two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"l will text you the details" Sherlock said and put his coat on.

"Whoa there!" John said quickly. He ran in front of the door and braced his back against it.

"You know there's another door in the kitchen?" Sherlock said raising an eyebrow.

John realised how foolish he probably looked, and smiled slightly. The smile was quickly wiped off his face however, by worry . "Don't think that you can try that 'text me' trick on me, it won't work."

Sherlock observed him for a moment. "I know. I just need a break John. I promise that I'll stay in touch. I might even call".

John smiled again, but only half-heartedly.

"Look" he began. "I know this is a somewhat…delicate issue but…It wouldn't have anything to do with Irene, would it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Irene?"

"You know…the woman…dominatrix…traitor?"

"Oh that Irene. Irene Adler." Sherlock said, as if he had only just recalled the person. He had to praise his own acting skills; Irene had been on his mind constantly in the last few weeks.

"Yeah…" John cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's just…you've been kind of quiet in the last few weeks, and I was wondering whether or not it had anything to do with her."

"Whatever gave you that idea John?"

John shook his head. "Nothing, it's just…well, this is unexpected. Talk about spontaneous."

The two looked at each other for a while, neither knowing quite what to say. Sherlock didn't like lying to his friend, but in this case it was necessary. He knew (or had a good idea) where Irene currently was, and he knew that it was partly his fault that she was stuck there. He had to help her out of this, but John couldn't know. Nobody could know.

"Does Mrs Hudson know that you're going on a holiday?" John said suddenly, the thought just having occurred to him.

"Yes, I told her yesterday. Went to beg to have my skull back, and ended up telling her about my trip."

"So she knows where you're going?" John asked hopefully. But Sherlock shook his head.

He heard a car honking from the street.

"That will be the taxi" he said, grabbing his suitcase. He turned around to look at John. He could see John was worried, and fought hard to contain a smile. If only John knew what kind of trouble he was about to get himself into. A terrorist prison.

Lovely.

He and John said their goodbyes and Sherlock promised to keep in touch, if only by texting.

He sighed and sat back in his taxi seat, watching the chaos in London.

He was going to miss the city.

But he missed Irene and her text messages more.

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He was tired when he finally arrived in Pakistan. It was such a contrast to London, hot, dry and dusty. He immediately made his way to the prison in Karachi, now completely certain that he would find Irene there.

After leaving her with Mycroft he had realised how stupid he had been. He didn't want her to leave. It was strange, this need he had for her. Not necessarily a physical need, just a need to know that she was alive and breathing. That there was someone of his intelligence in the world.

But he also realised that he cared for her. A lot.

And that terrified him.

Knowing that she fascinated him was one thing, but realising that he, Sherlock Holmes, who had never really cared about women in his whole life, had developed romantic feelings for this woman, scared him to death.

Of course, that had done nothing to somehow erase his anger and disappointment after the whole Jumbo jet fiasco. Leaving her there like that, with tears slipping down her face, _begging_, actually begging _him _to help her, had been horrible. What sickened him was that he had actually felt a bit of satisfaction in those few moments – she had hurt him, pretended to play him, and made sure to say that he meant nothing to her. He had played the same game in the end.

Only later did he realise that he was the man who really couldn't stand losing. And that Irene challenged exactly that - and made him better.

And he was lonely. Her flirtatious text messages had become so normal, and the moaning sound his phone emitted had become natural - almost music to his ears (that would certainly please her) because it meant that she had written.

He had hoped that the way he thought about her would fade over the weeks, but the opposite had happened. He supposed that keeping regular tabs on her hadn't helped much.

But at least he knew that she was here. He hoped she was okay. The terrorist prison cell where she was being kept didn't exactly have a good reputation in their treatment of criminals.

Fleetingly, he wondered whether or not he was making a mistake. If either she or he got caught, the consequences would be disastrous. But he dismissed the thought as nonsense.

Irene Adler would not die again. He would ensure that.

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**Yeah yeah, know it was short, but please review anyway. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted and favourite. I've been hugely surprised and pleased with the response to this story. ;)**

**I read that lots of people thought this was very 'in character' and I just want to say that I'm sorry if this chapter isn't. Writing a chapter like this is hard, because it's hard to imagine how Sherlock would come to terms with his feelings and what he would be thinking after the rescue. **

**Hope you enjoy anyways x **

He saw her from far away at first. They took him to her prison cell, and he made sure that his face was covered up. If she would recognise him, she would know that he had come to save her, and then she would get too confident. The wardens would that notice something was wrong, that something had changed.

Right now however, Irene Adler wasn't confident. She sat there, dressed only in black, her hair tied back and her makeup removed. She barely looked up when he came in. She looked defeated.

It scared Sherlock too see her like this.

Vulnerable and weak.

None of her usual confidence was there. Generally she was bursting with life; you could see it in her eyes, the energy there. Now however, she kept her eyes on the floor, downcast.

She did give him one small glance when he left. Eyes locked, and he could see the message she was trying to convey. Even at her weakest she was still giving him a look filled with hatred, hoping it would haunt him. She thought that he was the one who would behead her, and she couldn't help but try to make him feel guilty about that fact.

He spent the next two days arranging things with the other wardens and learning how the system worked. They thought he was a trainee; they had now no idea that he was there to 'behead' Irene Adler.

He sneaked her food sometimes; he could see she wasn't getting enough. He could see how thin she was, and how tired she looked. She was made to work every day, and it wasn't simple labour.

What angered him the most however, were the countless cuts and bruises on her body. He would observe her sometimes, when she was working, and whenever her black sheet slipped slightly it revealed the blotchy red skin. Scars that others had inflicted on her. He felt something rise within him and it took him a while to understand exactly what it was.

Anger.

Protectiveness.

And a desire to hit everybody who had done this to her.

Once again, these feelings utterly baffled him. He had established that he cared for this woman, but he had been very careful to stay away from using the word 'love' to describe his feelings. He had said it already; love was a weakness, a disadvantage when it came to life, and something he could do without.

But what was this feeling he felt when he looked at Irene then?

Not attraction, however much he wished it to be so. No, this feeling surpassed attraction and fascination.

He admired her. Admired her wit, her cleverness, her courage and her daring. But it was more than admiration too.

He supposed he could think of it as a crush. A fleeting feeling, which, after some time, would go away, and he would go back to being his normal self - unaffected by women.

But that wasn't true, was it? Even while she was alive he had wanted to see her, and that had been _months_. And after they had finally finished with each other, after he had given her phone to Mycroft, the feeling had stayed with him. Even after she had betrayed him, played him for a fool, hurt him, he still felt the need to see her.

And she wasn't just a woman; she was _the_ woman, the cleverest, funniest, and most courageous woman he had ever met. And the only woman he had ever had feelings for.

She was the only woman who could thwart him, beat him and play the same game he did. She was the only one who could make him stop short. John had said it himself; Sherlock would outlive God trying to have the last word. But that wasn't the case with Irene.

So was it love? The realisation startled him, shocked him. It was certainly a feeling he had never felt before, but _love_?

Sherlock Holmes did not _love_. What a stupid thought.

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When he wasn't walking around the jail cells he was arranging the way out of Pakistan. Karachi was close to the ocean, and Sherlock had already reserved tickets for a boat that would take them away. It was a ferry, but it would take them far away. After that they would continue on by plane.

He'd already had papers made for her, she would become Kate Baker. He'd already brought her an apartment in New Zealand. People wouldn't look for her there.

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The day of the execution came. Sherlock had already thought things out very carefully, having befriended the real executioner. Slipping a large dose of sleeping pills into his food had been almost too easy.

After that he had put on his clothes and ID card. His face was almost completely covered up by the clothes he wore; no one would notice the difference.

It sickened him to see Irene kneel before him like that, ready to die. She looked so weak.

He had never seen her more naked.

Stripped of all confidence.

What sickened him more was that it was him, _him_, that stood over her with the machete. She thought that he was going to take her life. It took all he had to keep still. She had to believe it until the very last second.

His heart felt warm as she asked to send one last text. He was sure she countless friends and allies, but he was certain that she was sending her last text to him. He briefly wondered why she was doing it. Out of spite and anger? So that he would know that she was dead and that this was his fault? Or because she wanted to say her final goodbyes to him?

Either way it didn't matter. She wasn't going to die today.

He watched her lean down and bow her head, closing her eyes, bracing herself for the quick slice of the machete.

Sherlock tensed in anticipation. He knew that his phone was in his pocket, he wouldn't have time to collect his items before they fled. Any second now…

He felt it vibrate in his trouser pocket and heard it emit a moan.

He saw her lift her head and whip around staring. A small smile graced her lips and a relived tear slipped down her cheek.

She knew.

He had come for her. But where was he?

She heard the whisper come from behind her. Of course.

It was the perfect cover up. The one holding the knife. Now the only one who had the power to set her free.

His voice sounded like music to her ears. "When I say run, run!"

Like a dancer, he brought down the knife, hitting the person behind him. Only to injure, not kill. He grabbed the warden's gun and ran.

She got up hastily, realising that she had been staring at him all this time. Together they ran through the gate, down the dusty tracks and out onto the road.

It felt so good to be free.

He didn't say anything while they ran, he simply expected her to follow him. He moved like a panther, grace combined with speed.

At one point he could see she was falling behind, and reached out a hand. He didn't know whether or not she would take it. But she did and he let out a sigh of relief when he felt her inter join her fingers with his. The feel of her soft skin calmed him.

They ran for a long time, eventually slowing down to a jog until they reached a small harbour. Sherlock still didn't say anything, but he dropped her hand. Irene did her best to hide her disappointment.

She couldn't clarify her feelings for this man. Like him, she was a stranger to love. True love was something she had never properly experienced.

Sex was different. Sex was a purely physical act for her, an act where she dominated. She had nothing against sex, but it was a simple act for her, with no emotions attached.

But with Sherlock it was all different.

And new.

Just looking at him, being in his presence, sent shivers down her spine and made her pulse race. She didn't dominate by him, they were even. Same intelligence, same thoughts, same feelings. Love was an inconvenient disadvantage for both of them. How funny that the two people who both regarded love with scorn should fall in love with each other.

But did he love her? She had hurt him, she knew. Disappointed him; angered him even.

She had used him.

She felt horrible now. Because she realised that he was the one man she needed. No man (or woman) had ever fascinated her so much before.

He led her on a small boat, a ferry by the looks of it. He had peeled off his headband, so as not to arouse suspicion, but the rest of his body was covered. Irene made good use of the sheet across her head and covered her face. The captain nodded as they passed and Irene breathed a sigh of relief.

Sherlock still said nothing, even though he desperately wanted to. What was there to say?

He led her down small corridors, all the way to their cabin. It had just one bed (for Irene, Sherlock didn't feel like sleeping, sleeping was boring.)

Irene remained standing in the doorway, watching Sherlock walk around to the small suitcase in the room and flipping it open.

"Why?" she asked simply. Usually she was witty and had the last word, but not today. 'Why' was all she could think of. Why did the man, whom she had hurt and taunted save her?

Sherlock turned around, but didn't reply, instead giving her a look of such intensity that it stunned her.

"Thank you" said Irene quietly, when it was clear that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything.

Sherlock finally smiled at her, and Irene knew now, beyond doubt that she was forgiven. His smile was suddenly so happy, that she had the impression that he had been holding back.

"You're quite welcome" Sherlock answered, walking over to her. He pointed to the suitcase. "I imagine you might want different clothes, I packed some for you".

Irene couldn't hide her surprise at his consideration and accepted the clothes he was holding out to her. She walked over to the bed, and Sherlock noticed her slight limp. "What happened to your foot?" he asked sharply. "It was fine when you were working today".

Irene sat on the bed and raised her foot to inspect the wound. It was worse than she thought. "They never gave me shoes" she said simply. "I was barefoot".

"And I made you run" Sherlock said, cursing his behaviour. He should have at least asked her if she was alright.

"We couldn't have escaped otherwise" Irene said, and attempted to clean the gash with a small towel she found in Sherlock's suitcase. Sherlock covered her hand with his own, stopping her.

"Let me" he said quietly, spraying some disinfectant on the towel. He felt Irene flinch.

"Sorry" he said gently, surprised at his own behaviour. He generally didn't tolerate it when people were fussy during these simple medical procedures, but with Irene it was different. He didn't want to see her hurt.

He finished cleaning the wound and gave her some simple clothes to use as pyjamas. "Are you tired?" he asked. With all the work she had had to do and all the running he wouldn't be surprised.

She nodded. "A little bit. Do you mind if I sleep?"

He shook his head, tugging the sheet he had been wearing over his head, revealing his naked chest. Irene had to admire it. Athletic and muscular, but smooth and white like a Greek statue.

He walked over to his case and pulled on a simple black shirt. "I need to go and talk to the captain. He owes me a favour. We might need to set off a little earlier than planned, so that the wardens won't follow us."

Irene nodded and inspected the clothes he gave her.

"Mr Holmes" she said suddenly, just as he was about to exit the room.

He turned around, noting that she was using her usual flirtatious tone. She smiled saucily at him. But it was different this time. There was a hint of shyness in her eyes, and something else he couldn't quite determine.

"Can I hope that you'll still have dinner with me sometime?"

Sherlock knew that this was her usual innuendo and had to hold back a smile. But he also knew that this question went further. It was her apologising and asking if she was forgiven. He kept his face smooth as he gave his usual answer.

"I'm not hungry."

She smiled slightly. It had only been a little over a month, but those conversations seemed so far away. She had missed them.

"Good" she said simply, and saw Sherlock raise an eyebrow in amusement. "Will you have dinner with me?" she repeated, holding her breath. She expected a no, but flirting with Sherlock Holmes was something she thoroughly enjoyed doing. And it wasn't a one sided act.

He finally allowed himself to smile, and walked forward until they were inches apart. He felt her breathing quicken slightly.

"We'll see" he whispered, and left the room.

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**Thank you very much for reading! **

**Most of you probably noticed that Irene was a little different in this one, much more hesitant and non-flirtatious compared to her usual behaviour. I wasn't completely sure how to write her reactions, but I decided that she would have to be hesitant. She's been on the run from all her enemies for months, has been forced to work all day in a small prison cell in Karachi, probably beaten when she did something they didn't like and about to be beheaded. I think it makes sense to make her quieter, because she would be in shock, at least a little bit?**

**What do you think?**

**Please review. Laura x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! **

**I just want to say something to one reviewer in particular, **_**Josie**_**. She said that what Sherlock and Irene shared wasn't love, but equality and kinship. I **_**do**_** agree with that, mostly, and I think that that's what the episode was supposed to convey. However, I do kind of want them to take the next step so to speak, so I am very sorry if I disappoint you here. :)**

**Enjoy x**

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He talked to the captain for about 15 minutes, nicely asking him to leave the harbour slightly earlier than scheduled. He gave no reason for his request, but the captain did owe him one (he had infiltrated a smuggling ring in the Middle East a few months ago and saved his wife and children from a painful death) and so he asked no questions. Whatever Sherlock was doing, it was something that he viewed as right, even if he was possibly breaking the law.

When Sherlock returned to the little cabin, he saw that Irene was already sound asleep on the bed. He took a moment to inspect her. She wore loose clothes, a dark blue long sleeved T-shirt and simple pants. The clothing revealed little of her skin, but he could still see numerous cuts and bruises. They made him angry, mostly at the people who had done this to her, but also angry at himself. If he hadn't given her phone to Mycroft, then she would still be safe.

Although he was angry because of his actions, he decided that they had been for the best.

He sighed, and stripped off his trousers, wanting no traces of the clothing he had worn as a jail warden on his body. Instead he put on his usual suit pants and sat in a chair with his laptop, thinking about how to clear this up. He was fairly certain that the jail would say they had caught Miss Adler, at least if anyone asked, something he highly doubted. Mycroft would make enquiries of course, and thorough ones too, after what had happened last time. But had plenty of time to clear all of that up and cover his tracks, he was in no hurry.

Irene would also be safe, at least if she engaged in more 'normal' activities this time. With fake papers, a fake passport and a new driving licence and an apartment, she would be fine. She wouldn't have all the power, money and glamour she had had in her previous life, but she was safe and alive. Currently, that was all that mattered.

He wondered if he would be able to visit her. He wasn't sure how long he would stay with her before she settled into her new life in New Zealand, but he hoped that he would at least have a couple of days. He had to make sure that she was alright.

New Zealand would be safe for her, hopefully no one would think of that as a place to search. New Zealand was nice, and she would be able to speak English. Unfortunately, New Zealand was far away from London, and he wouldn't be able to see her as often as he wanted to. Money wasn't the problem; he had plenty, having inherited a vast amount from his rich parents. But it would take him more than a day to travel there, and how could he explain his absence to John and Mrs Hudson? Even if they didn't ask exactly where he was going, Mycroft would surely notice something was up and possibly suspect something.

He sighed and shook his head. He would manage. Even over distances, texting was still possible.

He walked over to his bag and pulled out his phone. He had texted John occasionally over the last few days, but he had also promised to call.

He dialled John's number, hoping he wasn't on a date somewhere. Or that he didn't have one of his girlfriends over.

John picked it up on the first ring.

"Sherlock! Finally."

Sherlock smiled. "Hello John."

"Hi. I know this is the fifth time I'm asking, but could please you tell me where you are?"

"No, John, sorry. But I'm fine, if that reassures you."

He heard a doubtful silence on John's end. He knew that John was worried about him, and wasn't surprised about this particular fact. In the last few months he had been tired and irritated, and had simply refused to talk. He would play his violin for days on end, composing sad, soulful or loud, angry music, depending on his mood.

"If you say so" John said after a while. He cleared his throat and opted for a brighter tone. "Lestrade was asking for you today. Apparently, he needed your help with something."

"Oh. Did he care to mention what?"

"Not specifically. It's nothing big as far as I can tell, just a number of break-ins here and there. There seems to be a pattern, but the police can't figure out who's behind it".

"Ah. Did you tell him where I was?"

Sherlock could picture John smiling slightly through the phone. "How could I? _I_ don't even know where you are! No, I just told him that you went on a short holiday".

"I suppose Mycroft knows too?" Sherlock asked, knowing he was on dangerous ground. He needed to know whether Mycroft knew of his 'holiday' but he didn't want to arouse suspicion.

"No, I haven't heard from Mycroft yet. But I suppose I will soon, he checks in every few days."

Sherlock nodded. He didn't see why Mycroft needed to have him under constant surveillance. He understood (or tried to understand anyway) Mycroft's concern. Mycroft was almost a father figure to Sherlock, because mostly he had been charged with the care of his little brother. Mycroft was also ten years older than Sherlock. Sherlock simply wished that Mycroft would let him live his own life, without the constant enquiries.

"Mycroft will want to know where you went." John said. "I suppose he'll rig up a new surveillance system to monitor you".

Sherlock smiled grimly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he does. I'll just have to rip it out again."

"He cares about you, you know" John said. "More than you think".

"Of course I know." Sherlock scoffed. "I just don't see why he has to install surveillance cameras all over our apartment. That's not caring, that paranoia."

John sighed. "I agree with you there." He paused. "Wait – _all over_ the flat? Does that mean that there are some in my bedroom too?" His voice now sounded incredulous and alarmed. He was probably thinking of all the times he had had Sarah (or god knows who else) in there.

Sherlock smirked slightly, and was about to answer when he saw Irene roll over in bed and open her eyes. "John, listen I've got to go" he said hurriedly. "I'll text you."

"No Sherlock wait! All over the flat or – "

Sherlock smirked in amusement and hung up.

"Miss Adler".

She smiled, stretching slightly.

"Mr Holmes."

They looked at each other for a moment, both considering their next move. Irene broke the silence.

"So" she asked, sitting up. "What happens now?"

Sherlock scooted his chair slightly closer to the bed and pressed his hands together.

"Well, obviously, you're supposed to be dead. Which means that you can't go around being Irene Adler anymore." He didn't bother to make sure that she understood the implications of this statement. She was clever enough. She knew.

"I've had fake papers made for you. A passport, a driver's licence, an ID card and such. You've become Kate Baker and you have a bank account in that name."

She looked surprised by the name, wondering who had chosen it for her. Had Sherlock? Or the man who had made the papers? Kate Baker. She liked the name, though it was a bit common. But common was good right now. She smiled. Baker. Baker Street.

Sherlock seemed unnerved by her silence and continued on. "You have an apartment a few miles outside Queenstown in New Zealand. Hopefully, no one will think of looking for you there. Obviously, I would advise you not to go back to your old lifestyle – that will make it a lot easier to find you. I recommend you get a somewhat more … _normal_ job. You will need to be a lot more careful now than before, because I have no doubt that people like Mycroft" ('_especially_ Mycroft, he thought to himself'), "Will be searching very thoroughly this time."

He finished and looked up at her, gauging her reaction. He expected her to be saucy and flirty, already prepared with some sort of witty or even snide remark, but she was silent. She let the expression on her face speak for her. During the last part of the conversation, her eyes had grown wide and surprised, and even she couldn't hide the emotion in them.

Irene was touched by Sherlock's kindness. She had no doubt that only he had done this for her; no one else was allowed to know she was alive. She had a whole new life set up for her.

"When did you have time to arrange all this?" she whispered. In her slightly more dominant and spoilt nature she would have said that this was fair, seeing that it was him that had left her without her protection, but she knew that she didn't really deserve any of this. At least not from him.

"As soon as I learned you were about to be beheaded in a little prison cell in Pakistan", he said, making the statement sound obvious.

"And how did you know that?" She asked, holding her breath. She could see that though he appeared as he usually did – calm and unaffected – that he was holding back. He fought very hard to keep relaxed posture, but he would twitch sometimes, and there was something other than cold assurance in his eyes. Her only conclusion was that he cared for her-genuinely cared for her, perhaps more than he was letting on.

"Well, obviously I was keeping tabs on you." At her raised eyebrows he snorted slightly. "Did you _really_ think that I'd just let you go like that, without your protection? It would have been such a waste to let a mind like your rot in some tiny, dirty prison cell."

Irene leaned in closer. If he wanted to play the game, then so would she. "Ah, so this is about my _intelligence_?" she said, letting a hint of sarcasm colour her tone.

Sherlock frowned, but didn't retreat. Their faces weren't very far apart now. "Of course it's about your intelligence!" he rebuked, trying to look surprised at the fact that she was thinking it was something else, something more.

She pursed her lips playfully. "So it definitely wouldn't have anything to do with your…_attraction_ to me, would it?"

He raised his eyebrows, as if she were speaking utter nonsense.

"Attraction?"

"Yes, your attraction" she replied.

"_What attraction_?"

She laughed; a tinkling musical sound. "As if you don't know!" She smiled at him, and leaned in a tiny bit closer. Their faces were still a reasonable distance apart, too far apart if they wanted to kiss each other, but closer than usual. Certainly close enough to make her heart speed up, just a little bit.

"Before this whole mess, whenever I texted you, you never agreed to dinner, but you _always_ replied. When you thought I was dead you sulked around your apartment, composing sad music – John told me. Even after I hurt you and denied ever having feelings for you, you still kept tabs on me, making sure I was all right." She leaned forward and took his hand. It was the barest of touches, but he didn't pull back. Instead, his eyes remained firmly fixed on her face.

"You jumped in to save me from being beheaded at last minute." She smiled gently. "And all this time I've been holding your hand. All I have to do is lean in closer, like this-" She leaned in, eyes dark-" And your pulse speeds up." She smiled in satisfaction and looked him in the eyes. "Your pupils are dilated" she murmured.

"And lastly" she whispered, "during this whole conversation, you never once denied your attraction."

"You never denied yours" he whispered back. Their faces were inches apart now.

"I wasn't going to" Irene said.

"No" he whispered gently, and one hand reached up gently to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. He kept his eyes locked with hers the entire time.

"I wasn't going to deny mine either" he said, and kissed her.

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**Thank you for reading, and please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Yes they kissed. :DD**

**I am as happy about it as you are ;)**

**Enjoy xx**

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It was soft, and gentle and sweet.

It had been a long time since Irene had kissed someone like that - if she even ever kissed at all. Her profession was always strictly sex-the physical type, no emotions attached. She always used whips, riding cops and the like and she'd forgotten how beautiful such a simple, gentle touch of lips against lips could be.

The kiss didn't last as long as Irene would have liked. Sherlock pulled back after a few seconds, his expression serious, but with a new gentleness in his eyes. His fingers gently traced down her arm as he drew back, his eyes never leaving hers.

She smiled slightly, and reached out a hand to trace his cheek. "I always said I cut myself on those cheekbones" she murmured. She grinned cheekily, replaying their first ever conversation from so many months ago. "Would you like me to try?"

He covered her hand gently with his own, his eyes twinkling. "Not just now" he said, smiling. "But I will keep that offer in my mind.

"Now" he cleared his throat and stood up, breaking the trance between him and Irene. "Would you like something to eat?"

Irene mock gasped. "You're finally going to have dinner with me?" she asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I was actually going to bring you some food. You didn't get very much in the terrorist prison."

She nodded, but his statement awakened her interest. How long had he been there, watching her, without her noticing?

"How do you know I wasn't getting food?" she asked.

He shrugged. It wasn't a difficult deduction to make. You're a lot skinnier than you were a few weeks ago. And seeing that I was made to hand out the food to most of the criminals there…"

"You see me as a criminal then?"

He shrugged, smiling at her flirtatious tone. With other females (or even males) it annoyed him to no end, but he liked it with her. Flirting was such a part of her that he would feel strange if she used a different tone with him.

"I certainly wouldn't pick 'innocence' as a way to describe you." He said simply.

"And how would you describe me Mr Holmes?" Irene asked, looking up at him. She was flirting, but her face betrayed genuine interest.

He paused for a while. How _could_ he describe Irene Adler?

"Hungry" he said at last, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'll get you some food" he added and left the room before Irene came up with another innuendo as a reply to his answer.

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He came back from the from the ships kitchen after 20 minutes. Irene had used that time to have a short shower and brush her hair. She wanted all clothes and traces from that horrible prison _gone_.

She wondered what her life would be like now. She was genuinely touched by Sherlock's behaviour and all he had done for her. She had never really thought about true kindness before.

Obviously before, she got everything she wanted, simply because she dominated. She gave and she took. She smiled at what she had once said to Sherlock.

'**You believe in higher power. In this case, yourself.'**

She nearly laughed out loud. Sure, the sentence was true, especially with Sherlock, but all the more so with her. She was the higher power, the one who played people like strings, manipulated them to get what she wanted. She had never needed to rely on kindness before, because she had means with which she could get anything she wanted. And because of that, the thought of anyone ever showing her kindness had never really crossed her mind.

With Sherlock, everything was new.

New Zealand wasn't so bad, she thought. She didn't have enemies in New Zealand, at least not direct ones, so she should be fairly safe there. And life wouldn't be too problematic, seeing she had all the necessary documents.

It was a fresh start, a new life. Just what she needed.

She wrapped a towel around herself, briefly wondering whether she should put clothes on or not.

Sherlock had described her perfectly, she was hungry.

Hungry in the literal sense of the word, but also hungry for him.

But she dismissed the idea of going naked. She felt that appearing naked in front of him would be going right back to the starting point in their relationship, and they had come so far since then. And…it was strange, because she wanted to have _dinner_ with Sherlock, obviously. She had never met a man who actually rejected her advances like this, over such a long period of time, which made her much more persistent to get what she wanted. But, strangely, sex wasn't that high on her priority list right now. Before it had been flirting, with the smallest hope that Sherlock would flirt back and say yes. But now it was more than flirting; now there was emotion and sentiment added to the mix, and that changed the situation.

Completely.

Emotion and sentiment wasn't something she was very familiar with. Especially during sex.

Maybe it was better to let the 'dinner' part rest for a few days. It was clear that she and Sherlock now had some sort of relationship, though she couldn't quite define it.

That was new too.

In her book, a relationship was either simply physical, or platonic, or it had genuine depth and romantic feeling attached.

She was familiar with the first one, and possibly a little with the second one. But the third one had always been no go territory for her.

Until now.

She sighed to herself and put her pyjamas on. She was venturing into unknown territory and that scared her. The only assurance she had was that this whole situation was also new for Sherlock.

Sex could wait.

Right now, she wanted actual food.

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The stayed on the ferry for a few days, until they were well away from the Middle East. After the ferry, they travelled by plane to New Zealand.

Irene took a fancy to Queenstown straight away. It was a major tourist city in New Zealand, and therefore crowded and chaotic. She liked that type of lifestyle. But her apartment was outside of Queenstown, where it was a little more peaceful and quiet.

The landscape too, was beautiful. She could see herself adjusting very well here.

The only problem was that London was so far away. She was sure that she would see Sherlock again, but she knew that visits wouldn't be all too frequent.

Luckily there was still texting.

He gave her a phone as a present. She had to smile at the irony of it.

It was a lot less advanced than her last phone, but a similar model. She noticed, with amusement, that his number was already in her contacts.

"Thank you" she said, and received one his truly heartfelt smiles in return.

"Unfortunately, I'll have to get rid of the ringtone you added for me" he said, sounding almost disappointed. "Shame. I quite liked it."

"I can always try to find a new one" Irene said, arching one eyebrow. A laugh rumbled deep in Sherlock's chest.

"Your safety is the priority here" he said, and dismissed the conversation.

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He made sure that she was well settled in. He stayed with her at her apartment and helped her look for a job. She soon found one, working as an assistant in beauty boutique. She didn't get as much money for it as she had for her other job, but she wasn't complaining.

She was surprised when she went the bank to make sure her account was working and found a large sum of money already on it.

She looked at Sherlock questioningly.

"My parents had a lot of money" he said by way of explanation, when he could no longer escape her sharp gaze. "And seeing that I'm not on the run from thousands of people and have a flatmate who has a stable job…" he trailed of, his eyes twinkling.

He stayed with her for a week.

Irene fleetingly wondered whether she could imagine living the rest of her life like this. It seemed so natural with Sherlock somehow, making breakfast with him, listening as he talked about a case he couldn't quite crack. Telling him about all the places she'd been and all the things that she had done while she was on the run. Sometimes they would play games like scrabble or chess, where they were both even. It was fun for them, to play against someone with the same intellect.

There was never any unnecessary sappy romance between them. Both of them were careful to stay away from the 'I love you'. They knew they had a relationship, but 'I love you' simply didn't fit'. It was a relationship with witty remarks and intense gazes but both of them were still trying to figure out exactly where they stood.

She always wondered where he would sleep (a part of her always hoped that he would one day choose her bed), but he always insisted that sleeping was boring and that it slowed him down.

She asked him about dinner every day, but she always let him decide whether she was being serious or merely flirting. His reply was always enigmatic, but at least he never said that he wasn't hungry anymore.

He never said it, but at the end of the week Irene could immediately tell that this was their last night together for some time. She realised from the way he looked at her. His glances lasted just a second longer, as if he was trying to remember her perfectly in his mind. He laughed more, and touched her more, sometimes reaching out to hold her hand for no apparent reason. But he was a lot more restless and fidgety than usual.

She was getting ready for bed and he was sitting in a large armchair in her room, reading something on his laptop. Whatever it was interested him, because he didn't lift his eyes as she emerged from the bathroom.

She sat down on her bed and watched him carefully. He wasn't wearing his customary suit shirt today; instead he had a simple black short sleeved T-shirt on. She could see his muscles under it. His hair wasn't brushed and lay untamed, covering his eyes slightly. He sat with his knees close to his chest, hands folded together and resting on his chin.

"Have dinner with me Mr Homes" she suggested playfully, waiting for one of his usual annoying remarks, which didn't reveal anything.

Instead he raised his head and met her gaze with his even, steady one.

"Didn't you just have dinner?" he asked simply, raising his eyebrows.

"That doesn't stop me from still being hungry" she said, careful not to let disappointment colour her tone. This was their last night together.

"No" he said calmly. "I imagine it wouldn't." He seemed to sense her disappointment and smirked slightly to himself.

"You never asked whether or not _I_ was hungry" he said after a while, as if the thought had just occurred to him. Irene's head snapped up from the book she was currently reading.

"Are you?" she said, holding her breath.

He looked at her for a second. "No."

Irene played along. If she couldn't have dinner, than she could at least flirt a bit. She walked over to him and knelt down until their faces were level. "Good" she said simply.

He looked at her and leaned closer until his lips were at her ear.

"I'm starving" he whispered to her, and watched the Goosebumps appear on her skin. He heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Have dinner with me?" she whispered again, slightly breathlessly, her dark eyes searching his.

He smiled slightly. "Only if you're paying." He murmured. Anything else he might have wanted to say was cut off when Irene kissed him.

Finally, the both though. About time.

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**I hope you liked it. I knew that maybe already having dinner was a bit too fast or them, and maybe a bit to OOC, but I just couldn't help myself. Sorry if I disappointed any of you :P  
>I am still planning to write at least one chapter, so stay tuned!<strong>

**Please review!**

**xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you all so much for all your positive feedback. ;D It means so much to me ;))  
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_**Sacred3, yeah sorry about that last sentence. I missed the 't' at the end, the sentence is 'finally, they both thought'.**_

_**And Kaittybee, thank you for the idea. I already have a chapter written (and a pretty long one at that) that has them texting a lot. I should post hat sometime in the next few days, depending on the reviews. :)**_

**This is another action free fill in chapter, so it's quite short. Hope you enjoy it anyway xx  
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**All quotes taken from a Scandal in Belgravia. I own nothing, all rights belong to the BBC.**

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They didn't speak much the morning after, but they smiled and shared intense gazes.

Their farewell wasn't overly emotional. Irene took him to the airport in her new car. They didn't hold hands, but they were always in close proximity so that their bodies were touching, lightly brushing against each other.

She hugged him at the airport, burying her face against his shoulder, and he knew that she would miss him. He kissed her once, gently and sweetly, before he departed.

As soon as he passed the security check, his phone beeped and vibrated against his thigh.

He flipped it open to inspect the message.

'_Thank you for dinner. KB' _

He smiled to himself.

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John was waiting for him at the airport, a gesture that surprised Sherlock. He could see that John was inspecting him during the ride home, making sure that he was alright.

"I know you're back now, but are you sure you still don't want to tell me where you were?" he asked, playfully letting ignorance colour his tone.

Sherlock shook his head. "It was very …pleasant though" he offered. "I might go again sometime."

And he does.

He made up lies, obviously, saying he was on cases like the one in Belarus, only to return home a few days later saying that it didn't find the case interesting.

John and Mrs Hudson always remained slightly suspicious.

"He does seem to be getting an awful lot of cases outside of London, doesn't he?" Mrs Hudson said one day as she cleared the table, throwing any body parts Sherlock had left there into the trash can.

John nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Did he do that often? Before I came along?" he asked, interested. He has to admit, he is worried about Sherlock, even though it had been nearly 3 months since the Irene Adler fiasco. Sherlock has stopped sulking, and he seemed happier, but he never mentioned her, only going by the name _the woman_ the few times he did.

"Oh, you never know with Sherlock" Mrs Hudson replied, in her carefree tone. "Before he was always dashing about here and there, and I never knew where he was half the time."

John swallowed and took a sip of coffee. "I'm still worried about him" he admitted. "After that whole thing with Irene…I don't know what to think. I wouldn't say he was heartbroken, because he's Sherlock, and I don't think he sees women that way. But then what is it if not heartbreak? Maybe he feels betrayed by her and angry at himself."

Mrs Hudson nodded and took a seat next to John. "But he's faring better now, isn't he?" She asked.

John sighed thoughtfully. "Maybe. I can't really tell. I mean, he doesn't compose sad music all the time, and doesn't sulk as much as he did, and he even eats occasionally. But he's become so secretive. I never know what he does half the time. And all these trips…I don't know what to make of it."

Mrs Hudson shrugged. "He's Sherlock. We'll never be able to guess what he's thinking." With that she stood up. "Don't worry about Sherlock too much, dear. He's strong and independent."

John nodded, and tried his best to be reassured by Mrs Hudson's advice.

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Sherlock returned after a few days looking quite happy and saying that he'd had an exciting case. Slowly, John stopped worrying.

The bombshell came when Mycroft asked to meet with John so he could tell him the news.

He handed him her file and told him about the witness protection scheme in America. John was relieved. He didn't particularly like Irene Adler, but he was glad (mostly for Sherlock's sake) that she was alive.

"He'll be okay with this witness protection and never seeing her again, he'll be fine" he said, sounding quite relieved. But of course, Mycroft couldn't let the relief last for long.

"I agree" he said. "That's why I decided to tell him that."

John closed his eyes, thinking '_no no no_' to himself. Mycroft just _had_ to do this.

"Instead of what?" he asked in a dangerously calm voice.

"She's dead" came the reply, and John felt something snap within him. What would this do to Sherlock? He'd only just started to recover, and now he was supposed to inform him that she was dead?

"She was captured in a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded." Mycroft added.

"It's definitely her?" John asked, desperately hoping for it to be otherwise. For Sherlock's sake. "She's done this before" he added.

Mycroft's reply was like a knife. "I was thorough this time." He paused slightly and looked at John, convinced. "It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me. And I don't think he was on hand, do you?"

John sighed. No, Sherlock Holmes had _not_ been on hand.

There was a short silence, with each man contemplating what to do next. Mycroft broke the silence.

"So, what shall we tell Sherlock?"

John heard the way Mycroft said Sherlock, letting a hint of gentleness and affection for his little brother colour his tone. Mycroft was worried about Sherlock too. He had seen what affect Miss Adler had had on him, and it scared him. He had never seen Sherlock feel something like that for a woman before, because emotion and sentiment side tracked him. She was dead now, and he would get over it, in time, but would he be okay until then?

John regarded him for a long moment and stood up. Sherlock deserved the truth. Without saying a single word he took the file Mycroft had given him and went up to see Sherlock.

Sherlock seemed fairly unaffected during their conversation about Irene. But it nearly broke John's heart when his head snapped up as he said her name. "Something happen?" he asked, sounding almost anxious. "Did she come back? Is she back in London?"

John closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself.

"She's…" he said and couldn't get the words out.

Sherlock saw his mouth about to form the d, before John changed his mind, and told him all about the witness protection scheme. Sherlock did his best not to smile. Everyone believed she was dead then. Good.

He asked to keep her phone in the end. He wasn't sure why he wanted it; after all she had another phone now. For old time's sake he supposed.

He smiled as John went back to return the file to Mycroft. He was sure that John only wanted the best for him. He knew that if Mycroft believed she was dead, then John would too.

Irene was safe.

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**Thank you for reading and please review (the next chapter is already written, so the update depends wholly on the number of reviews I get … yeah I know, I am mean).**

**I think this story is nearly finished now (but I can't really be sure, because I do have a tendency to add chapters even after I said that the story was completed) and so I would like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted or favourite so far. It means a lot to me :D**

**Laura xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey! **

**First of all, a HUGE thank you to everyone who reviewed. The response just blew me off my feet! Thank you!**

**So this is the tiny little twist I had planned. And yeah, I couldn't fit it all into one chapter, so I split everything up. Which means that there is at least one more chapter to come (I told you I am bad at sticking to specific chapter numbers…oh well.)**

**Enjoy x**

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Months passed.

For John, everything returned to normal.

Mycroft still checked in occasionally, simply because he wanted to make sure that his little brother was alright. He thought of it as his fault that Sherlock had been (to the extent of Mycroft's knowledge anyway) hurt and manipulated by Irene Adler, and so made sure to put in new surveillance systems every few days after Sherlock ripped the old ones out. This pattern went on for a few weeks, until Sherlock and John finally put their foot down. (In John's case it was the fact that that he discovered that there _were_ cameras placed in his bedroom. As for Sherlock, he was simply tired of constantly being monitored like a child. But he was also scared what would happen if Irene called – If Mycroft noticed that he was talking to a female on the phone, it would most certainly arouse suspicion.)

Mycroft had, after a long and fairly heated discussion, finally decided to take all the cameras away, but still visited. Their relationship grew slightly less tense.

Sherlock and Irene still kept up a constant stream of texts, though no one actually knew about them. Sometimes Irene would call too, over Skype, and then they could see each other. Sherlock was glad that Skype was free; otherwise the phone bill would have been huge.

He was always careful to call when John was gone, which was hard because he and Irene were in totally different time zones. He may not have needed the sleep, but Irene did.

Life went back to normal. Sherlock would almost say that life was a little better now.

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Sherlock and John were having breakfast one morning and John was excitedly telling him about Sarah. Apparently the two of them had worked out their differences and had gotten back together.

Sherlock was barely listening.

"…And she suggested we could double date. She has this really nice friend called Ingrid, and she says that Ingrid is very intelligent. I already told her yes, so…"

Sherlock's head snapped up at the mention of double dating.

"So could you please do it for me?" John asked, taking a sip of coffee.

Sherlock closed his eyes. John _was_ kidding, right?

Apparently he wasn't.

"John" he said, with forced patience. "I thought we've been over this_. I don't date_."

"Yeah, but Sherlock...don't you think it's time to get into that a bit? Or at least learn how to act normal around other _human_ people?"

"No" said Sherlock stiffly, frowning. Was John suggesting that he wasn't _human_? "I'm not interested in women John. Or _men_!" he added hastily when John opened his mouth. "I'm sorry John, but this isn't going to work. Sorry."

"Don't you think it's time to get into the field a little Sherlock? Meet someone, possibly fall in love? Or at least be able to have a conversation with them without offending them in the first 30 seconds?"

"And you're suggesting that this will happen with this…Ingrid?" Sherlock scoffed.

"No!" John protested. "I just mean that _in_ _order_ for that to happen, it might help if you meet some girls first. Get some…you know…_experience_" he said, hoping Sherlock would catch his meaning.

"Experience?" Sherlock asked, almost shocked at the implications. "Are you seriously suggesting _that_-"

"No!" John said quickly, even though it was a lie. God, it was absolutely impossible to have the sex talk with Sherlock.

"I'm just saying that…Oh never mind" he huffed, when it was clear that Sherlock was looking at him as if he were an idiot. "But seriously Sherlock, have you never thought that it would be nice to have a girlfriend?"

Sherlock merely raised his eyebrows. Before, he would have said something about sentiment and emotion being a huge disadvantage, but after Irene, that argument could never be used again.

"Come on." John practically begged. He knew that relationships were touchy with Sherlock, but Sherlock was what…thirty? And from what John could tell, he had _never_ had a relationship. He briefly wondered whether Sherlock had ever had sex. He highly doubted it.

"It's only going to be a short date." He insisted. "We'll go to a club or something and have dinner and then you can go home."

Sherlock closed his eyes at the mention of dinner. There was only one person he wanted to have _dinner_ with, and it wasn't Sarah's friend.

"No" he said, drawing the word out so that John would grasp the concept. And with that he left the table and retreated to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

"He's quite touchy about those sorts of things." Said a voice from behind John. He turned around, surprised.

"Mrs Hudson!" he greeted, inwardly wondering how much she had heard.

"Well, at least you tried" she said ruefully and sat down next to him. "I don't suppose we can ever wear him down".

John nodded. "But it's not normal!" He burst out. "I know that this is the great Sherlock Holmes, who thinks that caring is a disadvantage, but he's thirty! Hasn't he ever had a relationship before?" he asked, rhetorically.

"I don't know dear" Mrs Hudson answered sadly. "But it's probably best not to try and force him into one."

.

.

.

Sherlock meanwhile was lying on his bed, annoyed. He'd gone through this with John hadn't he?

He lay there for about an hour, listening to John gather up his stuff and leave for work.

A beeping sound distracted him. He'd received a text.

Eagerly, he flipped open his phone.

_I'm just reading John's blog. Apparently, he tried to make you date - I suppose that didn't go down well. I'm free for dinner, if you're interested. KB_

He smiled. But the smile quickly disappeared when the full meaning of the text sank in. John had typed up their conversation on his _blog_?

_Some people should be more discreet in the information they put on line_, he typed. He knew that if she was in the room with him right now, she would be laughing.

_How's life?_ He typed again, when she didn't reply to his first text.

_Uneventful but fun. I feel like robbing a bank. You could fly over and investigate it. Afterwards we could go and have dinner._

He chuckled slightly. _Are you sure you're getting enough to eat?_

_No. Let's go and have dinner._

He laughed again. Instead of texting back he called her, and talked to her for an hour.

He missed her.

Sentiment was a strange thing indeed.

.

.

.

John ended up going on his date alone, but decided not to hold it against Sherlock. He noticed that Sherlock was sinking back into his sad phase – he played the violin all day, used up countless nicotine patches and only spoke when someone directly asked him a question.

Luckily, the phase didn't last very long though.

The day after, both Sherlock and John decided go do the grocery shopping. They found that it was easier doing it together, because it spared them countless hours of sitting at the table together, arguing about the shopping list.

Sherlock and John were stocking up on baked beans when Sherlock's phone beeped.

_Got hungry, so instead of robbing a bank I thought of something better. KB_

Sherlock smiled slightly, and shielded the phone from John's sight.

_Surprise me_

_I'm starving, so I decided to come over and see you. You bed looks quite comfortable. Do you mind if I borrow your pyjamas? I had to travel light._

Sherlock stared at the text.

He couldn't believe it. She was here. In London.

How had she gotten in without him noticing?

He dismissed that though, his mind more focused on her safety. She wasn't safe in London!

"Can you go and get some carrots?" he asked John, aware that the fresh produce was on the other end of the store. "I have to make a call. It's urgent."

John left, although he knew that there was something odd about this situation. Sherlock never made calls, he only texted. He could see that there was something wrong though, and so he went to get carrots.

Sherlock dialled Irene's number as soon as John was out of sight.

"What are you _doing_?" he hissed as soon as she picked up.

"Good morning to you too" came the reply. "And relax. No one's following me, and no one has any idea that I'm here."

"How can you be sure about that?" Sherlock bit out, his protectiveness and fear for her safety manifesting itself into anger.

"Trust me." She said, and although her tone sounded very sincere, it did nothing to make him relax.

"Look, I have a wig, sunglasses, and even a specially made prosthetic mask which I can use during emergencies. And I got a new passport made by the person you recommended. It's fine, I promise."

Sherlock sighed to himself, there was no stopping her.

"Fine" he said, sighing in resignation. Somehow, she always managed to win. "There are no surveillance cameras in the apartment, I checked. Just stay in my bedroom and lie low if Mrs Hudson comes upstairs. She never goes in my bedroom."

"Thanks for the tip Mr Holmes" Irene said, and he could hear the tiredness in her voice. "I look forward to dinner when you get back".

Sherlock chuckled. "So do I" he said, and heard Irene gasp slightly. It was the first time he had ever admitted that he looked forward to dinner too.

"John's coming home with me though, so be quiet for a while. He has a date tonight. There's no need for him to see you today."

"As you say Mr Holmes. See you soon".

He smiled to himself and hung up, looking up as John rounded the corner with a packet of carrots.

"You okay?" John asked carefully. Sherlock was smiling, but there was tension in his eyes.

Sherlock simply nodded, suddenly feeling quite ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Irene again.

.

.

.

He looked for signs of her the second he entered the flat. A slight crease on the carpet, a used glass in the kitchen, his laptop open on a different website and an open window. He supposed that she had simply come through the door, seeing that they kept it open most of the time and that Mrs Hudson was always tiding up their flat, despite her claims that she was only their landlady.

He did his best to put on a calm and unaffected air so that John wouldn't suspect t anything.

John decided to unpack the groceries and then start blogging about his latest adventure with Sherlock.

Sherlock immediately went to his bedroom and smiled at the sight before him.

Irene lay curled up in his bed, dressed as promised in his pyjamas, her hair covering her face. The sheet was crumpled and his pillow lay on the floor, so Sherlock suspected that she had been rather restless.

"Hello" he murmured softly, going over to the bed and sitting down on it. She felt it dip under his weight, and opened one eye sleepily.

She waved sleepily and closed her eyes. He chuckled slightly.

"You find everything funny" she mumbled. "Didn't strike me as such when we met…"

"And how did I strike you when we met Miss Adler?" he whispered, knowing that she is more or less awake now.

"Sexy" she said, and Sherlock smirked. "And extremely arrogant", She added, finally opening her eyes and smiling at how quickly Sherlock's smirk disappeared. She reached out to touch his cheek. "You were always so easily offended."

"Hmmm" he said, and lay down next to her. They stared up at the ceiling together.

"Suppose John comes in right now" she whispered. "What do we tell him?"

"Good question" Sherlock answered. "I suppose, if this were to happen exactly now, then we would have approximately 15 seconds to think of something. During the whole time he would be standing there gaping like a fish because he thinks you're dead, and because catching me lying in bed with a woman is not something he thought he would ever see."

Irene laughed quietly. "So what would we say?"

"I suppose we should just let our actions speak for ourselves."

She arched an eyebrow. "How? We're not actually doing anything".

"We're lying together on my bed, you're wearing my pyjamas, and we're closer together than is customary for a simple friendly acquaintance. I think that that's enough for John to read into."

"I think there's a lot more we could be doing" Irene said nonchalantly. She grinned teasingly at him. "Hungry?"

He shook his head. "No. Or at least, not until John leaves the apartment."

She nodded understandingly. "Well, we have at least one night to spend with you then. I'm going to back to what I was doing."

"Which would be?"

"Sleeping." She said, stifling a yawn. She shifted on the bed and wrapped one arm around him, pulling herself closer to his chest and closing her eyes. She felt him stiffen slightly, but he relaxed after a second, putting one arm on her back. It was the barest of touches, light and gentle, but possessive.

She smiled against his chest. "At least stay until I am asleep. It's common courtesy."

"And how would you know?" he whispered.

"I don't".

"Ah".

He dis wait until Irene fell asleep, and then untangled himself from her. He would stay, gladly, but he knew that John would become suspicious if he was in his bedroom for a long time.

Sure enough, John is already looking for him, stealing glances every time he reached a spot in his blog and didn't know how to continue.

"There you are" John said. "Are you okay? You barely ever go into your bedroom."

"I'm fine" Sherlock replied with a smile. Screw the unaffected act. He pulled out his violin and started playing a sweet but happy tune.

John noted the change with raised eyebrows, but didn't say anything. If this was just a temporary phase, then he was glad while it lasted.

As promised, John left for his date with Sarah fairly early. By then Irene had gotten up, and was reading one of the books she had found on Sherlock's bookshelf.

"Finally remembered I was here then Mr Holmes?" she asked playfully, no accusation in her tone.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "How could I possibly forget?" He smiled as he took of his jacket and loosened his shirt. He raised one eyebrow. "Hungry?"

.

.

.

**Hope you all liked it! :D **

**John is going to get one big surprise when he walks in and finds Irene Adler on the sofa.**

**Seeing that I am slowly reaching an end to this story, do any of you have any requests? I very recently read the whole W.S. Baring - Gould thing about Irene and Sherlock being lovers and even having a child together, a little boy called Nero? Do any of you want me to incorporate that into the story, or do you think it would be too much? (There might be a small dose of eventual daddy fluff, which is a **_**bit**_** OOC)**

**Please tell me what you think, either in a PM or in a review.**

**Thank you!**

**Laura x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Seeing that I got so many reviews for the last two chapters, I thought I would just upload this shorter one. Once again it's a fill in chapter, but it features John finding out. I hope you like it! :) **

Irene was in a very good mood the next morning. She untangled herself from Sherlock's arms and went into the kitchen quietly, making herself coffee. She knew that John had stayed at Sarah's overnight and that Mrs Hudson was still asleep. So far she was safe.

Her soft humming woke Sherlock up. He found her in his favourite armchair, sipping coffee and reading the Guardian, laughing at certain scandals. When he playfully chastised her for making so much noise while he was sleeping, she simply told him that he had played his violin while she was sleeping the day before.

They were even.

They both took a shower later in the morning. She let her wet hair fall down her shoulders and walked back to Sherlock's bedroom. She only had a small suitcase with travel clothes and her other small necessities with her, so she opted for sweatpants and one of Sherlock's shirts.

Sherlock wouldn't mind.

He was still in the bathroom blow drying his hair and so he didn't hear the staircase creaking.

Footsteps.

Irene looked up from her spot in the chair, something akin to panic rising within her. She listened carefully, and smiled in relief. The weight of the footsteps and the slight mutterings told her it was John.

She therefore snuggled into a more comfortable position and went on with the book she had stolen (or borrowed) from Sherlock's bookcase, listening as John fumbled with the lock.

He barely acknowledged her as he opened a door. She could tell he was rather distracted.

"Morning" he said slightly sleepily when he saw her sitting in Sherlock's armchair in his clothes. She smiled at him in return, her hair covering most of her face.

John continued obliviously towards the kitchen, calling out loudly. "Listen Sherlock, why did you feel the need to lock the door if you're awa-" he stopped short suddenly, when his brain caught up with him. He froze and slowly turned around and stared.

_A woman was sitting on Sherlock's favourite armchair._

_Wearing Sherlock's shirt._

_And it looked like she had just stepped out of the shower._

Sure enough, he could faintly hear the sounds of a hairdryer coming from the bathroom.

John opened his mouth and tried to say something, anything, but his body seemed to be unable to move or execute any other action.

'Right' he thought to himself. 'Let's take this slowly.'

He knew he looked like an idiot, but he blinked, making sure the woman was still there.

She was. She wasn't even looking up at him, totally unconcerned by his silence. Instead she flipped a page in the book she was reading. That was Sherlock's favourite book he realised.

He took a deep breath. 'Okay. A woman was sitting in their flat, dressed in Sherlock's clothes. Obviously not a client then. But then who? Sherlock didn't have a girlfriend. What a preposterous thought.'

"Sorry" he said, in the same tone he used with Sherlock, the one that conveyed his utter lack of understanding. "But who exactly-"

She looked up at him and smiled, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. "Sherlock was right then. Your silence did last _exactly_ 15 seconds. How _does_ he manage it?"

John's heart momentarily stopped beating.

It couldn't be.

No. Definitely not.

She was supposed to be dead.

Irene Adler was sitting in his living room.

"_What_?"

He hadn't realised that he had said that one out loud until he heard Irene's tinkling laugh. She got up from the chair and smiled. There was something different about her smile he noticed. It seemed so much gentler and natural, not predator-like and flirtatious as he remembered it to be.

"Hello Doctor Watson".

Any reply he might have given was silenced when Sherlock entered the room, his hair still lightly damp. He was dressed in his usual suit instead of his pyjamas and dressing gown but he looked….less regal somehow. And a lot less sullen.

"Ah." He said when he saw him. "Good morning John. How was your date?"

John simply stared. Sherlock didn't seem at all surprised about Irene's presence.

In fact, he seemed very comfortable around her. John stared. Sherlock had recently had a shower, his hair was still damp. So was Irene's.

_Oh god._

"Sher…lock" he managed, still staring at Irene.

"You were right" she said, inclining her head towards Sherlock. "Exactly 15 seconds. I don't get how you do it."

Sherlock let the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. "I suppose you may call it talent and intelligence Miss Adler"

She rolled her eyes. "I see that humility and modesty is not you area of expertise Mr Holmes."

John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline_. Was Sherlock flirting?_

"How is she alive?" he demanded and suddenly realised that Sherlock now knew that John had lied to him when he had said that she was in the witness protection scheme in America.

Sherlock and Irene just looked at him, waiting for him to figure it out.

"Mycroft said he was thorough this time!" John added, needing to convince himself.

Sherlock laughed lightly. "And I am sure that Mycroft said something along the lines that only I could fool him, am I right?" he asked.

"As always" John muttered automatically, before the whole meaning sank in.

"**It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me. And I don't think he was on hand, do you?"**

John gasped as he realised.

Of course.

Only Sherlock Holmes was capable of fooling his careful older brother, and therefore the whole country.

And only Sherlock Holmes would do exactly that.

But when had he done it? When he hadn't been at the flat sulking he had either been on one of his mysterious cases or on the holiday –

John closed his eyes.

The holiday. Of course.

He'd been so stupid.

How could he not have figured it out? Looking back, it seemed so _obvious_.

"**I have to go somewhere" Sherlock announced.**

"**Could you at least tell me where you're going? Or why?"**

"**I just…need to get away. It's all so…**_**dull**_** here, and I just need a bit of a change. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but a few days, possibly a little over a week…maybe two weeks."**

Sherlock was barely ever so mysterious. And of course, Sherlock had never been very keen on secluded holidays.

The truth dawned on John.

He had been going to rescue Irene.

"Excuse me" he said, somewhat weakly. "I think I need to sit down."

.

.

.

Irene and Sherlock watched him, with slightly amused smiles tugging at the corners of their lips. John was currently sitting in a chair, still staring at Irene as if he doubted her existence. They had told him the story of her rescue and had talked about Sherlock's visits to New Zealand. It was all painfully clear now.

Sherlock was right. He was an _idiot_.

He simply couldn't understand how he could not have noticed any of this sooner. Sherlock may be and expert in deception, but his replies in the last few months had been awfully vague and unspecific.

He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Irene Adler wasn't dead.

Okay.

Time to focus on the next big issue.

Sherlock and Irene were a _couple_.

As in a dating/kissing/doting/ (possibly _dinner_ having) couple.

Or at least, that's what he gathered from the looks they kept throwing each other. They sat close together, barely touching, and yet something about them suggested extreme intimacy. Their hair was wet, suggesting that they had showered at the same time. She was curled up in _his_ _armchair_, wearing _his shirt_, probably just having come from _his bed_.

Right.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, aware that the two of them were staring at him, probably amused by his slow track of thought and all the time he needed to process everything.

They looked at each other.

"About…six months?" Sherlock said. "I stopped counting."

"But ever since Pakistan" Irene added for him.

"Right." John said, trying to wrap his head around the fact. _Six_ _months_. Jesus. He snorted suddenly, remembering Sherlock's reaction when he had asked him about the date. The reaction hadn't surprised him, this was _Sherlock_ they were talking about, but all the same, he had to admit that he was amused. To think that Sherlock had said no to the date because he was currently in a relationship with someone who lived halfway across the world.

He cleared his throat. "Okay. You can stop looking at me like that now" he told them. "I know what you're thinking, and yes I know I've been _incredibly_ slow, but I think I've processed it now."

Sherlock smirked.

"You do understand that absolutely no one can know about this." He said, and his tone suddenly acquired extreme seriousness.

Now it was John's turn to smirk. "You mean that no one is allowed to know that Irene Adler is alive or that no one is allowed to know that the famous unattached detective is _dating_?"

Sherlock's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Dating?" he asked, as if the word was some strange new food he was trying out and apparently not liking. He looked genuinely shocked at the word.

_Dating_. That wasn't a word he would use, no.

But what other word was there?

Irene was smirking slightly, but she had a similar expression on her face. John had to laugh at the pair of them. It was so ridiculous. Even now, when it was so _clear_ that they had a relationship they still wouldn't directly say it, for fear of losing.

How ironic that these two unattached people, who frowned upon caring and love as a disadvantage, who hated emotion and sentiment, should fall in love with each other.

John sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Just another typical day then.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello!**

**I am soooo sorry for the long wait. Some of my best friends were visiting from Australia for a few days, and I spent all my time with them.**

**Here is an extra-long chapter for you all.**

**The next chapter will be the last (and it might be quite short), but I am already planning a sequel!**

**Stay tuned! **

Irene stayed at the flat for a few more days, cunningly always managing to avoid Mrs Hudson, and hiding in Sherlock's room.

John came and went, and was no longer surprised to see her sitting in Sherlock's chair in the morning.

He studied both of them. He could already see the effect Irene's presence was having on Sherlock, and was amazed that he had missed it before. (Once again, another _obvious_ thing he should have noticed…he now understood why Sherlock called him slow.) Sherlock was gentler, his comments not so insulting, and not as rash. The expression in his eyes was kinder than it had been before, and not as cold and inhuman.

Irene had helped prove something that John had been attempting to do for ages.

She had proved that Sherlock Holmes had a heart.

A real, proper, human heart.

Irene had changed too, John noticed. The flirtatious side to her remained, but that was just part of who she was. Her flirting had become a lot less forceful, her nature sweeter, more innocent and almost childlike.

Well, as close to childlike as you could get by Irene Adler anyway.

He could tell she was starting to get slightly bored in the apartment though, and wanted to go out, but Sherlock refused, the reason being her safety.

John tried to give them as much privacy as possible; staying at Sarah's longer than was expected. He knew that they saw through his subtle attempts, but they were both glad at John's consideration.

.

.

.

Irene was sitting on the sofa one morning, and she and Sherlock were concentrating on a game of chess. Currently Irene was winning, having almost gotten Sherlock's black king. Sherlock wasn't saying anything, but staring at the chessboard, a small frown on his features.

He wasn't used to losing.

Irene was quietly laughing to herself. "It's hard learning to lose, I suppose" she said, smiling at Sherlock's irritated expression.

Sherlock simply made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, knowing that Irene was enjoying this far too much. He desperately concentrated on the game, trying to figure out how to get her king instead, and listening to Irene's tinkling laughter.

He was worried when it cut off suddenly.

He immediately looked up to try and determine the cause of her silence, and saw her worried face.

"Listen!" she said urgently, nodding towards the direction of the staircase.

Sherlock listened for a moment, and a flash of something akin to fear appeared in his eyes.

"That's not John" he said slowly, frowning, and realising why panic was suddenly sweeping across Irene's face.

_Heavy footsteps, but not a soldiers. _

_A man's though, so not Mrs Hudson's. _

_Office shoes. New, they were squeaking._

_And quickly coming up, in a way which spoke of familiarity but showed urgency and need. The person wasn't using the banister like John usually did. _

_This was not a stranger, he recognized these footsteps._

"Lestrade."

His brain had it all figured out in a second. Lestrade was a police officer, and had access to most files. No doubt there were (or at least had been) countless pictures of Irene in the Scotland Yard database, probably under the wanted section. Lestrade saw but did not observe, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't recognise Irene.

So, in this case, he was dangerous.

Sherlock's voice was tight as he uttered the single word.

"_Bedroom_".

Irene didn't need telling twice, and ran into Sherlock's room, locking the door behind her. She knew that he would somehow tell her to come out when all was safe, either by text or by a specific song he had composed on the violin.

Sherlock immediately took out his violin and positioned himself by the window, playing a few lone notes, just as Lestrade pushed open the door. He never bothered to knock anymore.

"Morning" he said hurriedly, looking around the flat, which was cleaner than usual, in surprise.

Sherlock nodded at him.

"What happened? I assume this isn't a purely social visit?"

Lestrade nodded, coming straight to the point. "No. There is a body I would like your help with. It a small case, but it seemed suspicious to us."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. He hadn't heard of any big crimes. "A body?" he asked again, wanting more details, and played a single note on his violin, signalling Irene that it wasn't safe to come out yet.

"Just a death, allergies apparently. But the post mortem confirmed that there was poison administered. We already have a woman in custody, but I would appreciate your view on things."

Sherlock nodded, knowing that if he said he was busy it would arouse suspicion.

"I'll be behind you, I'll take a cab. Bart's morgue right?"

Lestrade nodded, and noticed the chess game. "Who have you been playing against?" he asked in surprise, wondering who was stupid enough to actually try playing chess against Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, John has been expressing an interest" Sherlock answered hurriedly, ignoring Lestrade's raised eyebrows. "I'll see you there" he added hurriedly, and almost shut the door in Lestrade's face.

He waited until the police car departed and counted to ten. Then he ran over to his bedroom and knocked on the door.

Irene unlocked it and stepped out, looking entirely unaffected.

"Can I come too?" she asked immediately. Sherlock stared at her, raising one eyebrow.

"No" he said, as if it was obvious. "We agreed, London is not safe for you, you're staying here".

"I'm not a child Sherlock" she said, letting her impatience colour her tone. She was starting to get bored in the flat.

"No, sorry, I forgot." Sherlock said, with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "You're a wanted criminal who is supposed to be dead. That changes the issue completely."

Irene remained unimpressed. "No one will recognise me if I put the full get up on. And I have papers remember. The ones _you_ made for me."

Sherlock frowned, impatience showing. He knew she would win again, it was inevitable, but he was determined to keep fighting, at least until his loss became obvious.

"London isn't safe" he said again, but could see that that argument was now becoming fairly useless. It wouldn't stop her.

"No one will recognise me!" she countered, sounding like a stubborn child. She decided to try a different tactic. "Are you afraid to be seen with a lady Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock groaned slightly. Now she had offered him a challenge, knowing full well that he couldn't refuse it.

"I am only going to the morgue" he tried again, albeit fruitlessly. "Most people don't like morgues".

"I'm not most people." she countered, smiling.

He groaned, admitting defeat. Irene smiled and went to his room to change while he put on his trademark coat and scarf.

He barely recognized her when she came back out, and she laughed at his shocked expression. She had on a wig, which already completely changed her facial features. It wasn't her usual dark brown colour, but a light ginger colour and it flowed down her back, stopping just above her waist. The hair was layered, especially around the face.

But she was also wearing a prosthetic mask, which changed her facial features completely. She still looked beautiful, but younger and more innocent, a bit like Molly. He was now confident that no one would recognise her.

To top it off, she wore dark glasses, which perfectly suited her face, and simple jeans paired with a short sleeved t-shirt and black jumper. She also wore no high heels, making her appear shorter all of a sudden.

She had restricted her make up to a minimum.

No one would recognise her as _the_ woman, or as a dominatrix.

He sighed in relief, and offered her a coat he had brought especially for her, a modest, dark grey trench coat.

"See" she said, when he didn't say anything. "No one will recognise me. I am perfectly safe".

He sighed and nodded, seeing that there was no use denying the fact anymore.

"Just to make clear, which alias are you going by today?" he enquired, seeing she had had a second passport made.

"Catherine Jones Baker" she said simply. "Not quite the simple Kate Baker you got for me, but it will do. You can always call me Kathy for short".

.

.

.

Sherlock strode through the morgue with his usual confidence, knowing exactly where to go. Irene stayed a step behind him, a slightly doubtful expression on her face, looking at Sherlock with a perfect mix of frustration and admiration.

The two of them had agreed that Irene wouldn't pose as Sherlock's lover (it had taken them a long time to decide on that word and then actually say it), but simply as a colleague he had met through John, who wanted to accompany him in his place.

Sherlock decided that he should seem fairly detached and possibly even cold to Irene. Irene had agreed but had begged Sherlock not to make her act stupid and oblivious, and, although Sherlock smirked at the idea at first, he had grudgingly agreed.

The second Sherlock pushed open the door he was greeted by Lestrade.

"Thank you for coming Sherlock-" he broke abruptly, when he saw Irene enter behind him.

Sherlock saw Anderson's, Sally's and Molly's eyes widen. He supposed that the fact that he had entered with a woman (and a very attractive one at that) would shock a tonne of people.

"Who is this?" Lestrade asked immediately, shocked that Sherlock would bring someone into a private police investigation _again_.

"This is my assistant" Sherlock said simply, his usual disinterest on his face.

"Where's John?" Lestrade enquired, staring at Irene as if she were some sort of intruder.

"He's busy" Sherlock said shortly, making it clear that this was the end of the conversation. The rest of them didn't see it that way though.

"I'm Catherine" Irene supplied, glaring at Sherlock for not introducing her. "I am a friend of John's, and I am studying medicine, so I wanted to tag along with Sherlock for some experience."

Sally raised her eyebrows. This was a private police investigation. She looked at Sherlock, wanting to see how he was reacting to all this. He was looking at Catherine with a bored expression, but with mild distaste. As if he didn't want her here.

'Well, he's always sucked with the ladies' she thought to herself, smirking. 'I bet he will repel her in two minutes flat'.

"I am afraid that this is a private investigation" Lestrade began, as politely as possible.

Sherlock sighed. "She's with me" he said. "John isn't here, so she will be acting as my assistant. She is completely aware that all information here is completely confidential."

"She has a name" Irene muttered under her breath. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Lestrade thought for a moment and then sighed. He did need Sherlock's help, and besides, John had turned out to be alright. "Fine" he muttered.

"Molly, could you please show me the bodies?" Sherlock asked, because Molly was staring at Irene appraising her. Molly started at his voice and showed him the dead man.

Sherlock stared at the body intently for a few minutes, walking round and checking things with his small magnifying glass. Irene did the same, checking the body like Sherlock, but in different places. Anderson eyed them sceptically. He hated Sherlock, completely and utterly, and wasn't happy that he had been brought into this, but he had to admit that his "assistant" as he called her was hot. He knew that she probably wouldn't want to hang around Sherlock (Sherlock repelled woman instantly, why should this one be any different?) And he was up for grabs. He winked at her when she looked his way and she smiled back slightly, looking rather amused.

Sherlock noticed the interchange and tensed slightly. Obviously he should have foreseen that Anderson would make a move on Irene, he had just split up with his wife. If Anderson made one move on her…he didn't finish the thought, but immediately took a step closer to Irene, and saw he smile. She was probably loving this.

Sherlock straightened up as soon as he was certain that he had the verdict.

"Did the man have any personal possessions on him? He asked.

Molly nodded. "We removed his wallet from his pockets. It had a picture of girlfriend in it, or at least, that's what the police assumed."

Lestrade nodded. "He was married you see" he added, but he must have been cheating on his wife or something like that, because this was neither a friend nor a family relation. We think that she may have murdered him".

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course it wasn't her!" he said. "Isn't it obvious?"

Anderson and Sally wore identical looks of annoyance on their features, why Lestrade looked slightly impatient. Irene however, was smiling.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Did you figure it out?" he asked her.

She smirked. "Child's play, Mr Holmes."

"You figured it out?" Sally almost cried. How was that possible?

Catherine looked at Sally with slight distaste, similar to the way Sherlock always looked at her.

"It's quite obvious if you know where to look" she said simply.

Lestrade sighed. So this is why he had brought her along. He smiled slightly. It was going to be interesting to see how Sherlock would react to someone as smart as him.

Sherlock, instead of looking annoyed, smiled quickly at Catherine.

He was proud that she had figured it out. Even if it meant that he had to share his brilliance.

"Do you want to take us through it?" Lestrade asked.

"Easy", he said. "This man was married, but I wouldn't say he had a happy marriage. His wedding ring has been removed, so I can't tell how long the marriage has been going on, but there is a faint tan line around the finger. The skin wouldn't deteriorate that quickly, which meant that he didn't wear the ring constantly, but took it off."

"His skin is tanned" Irene added, and turned towards Lestrade. "What kind of job did this man have? And is he an Englishman?"

"Yes, he's lived in London his whole life. He was a banker" he replied, wondering where this was going.

"His skin is tanned, this man has been out in the sun" Irene said simply. "For longer amounts of time I imagine, and you don't get that sort of sun in London."

Sherlock nodded approvingly. "That means he went on holiday, to somewhere sunny, like Africa" he said. The line on his finger is quite tanned, which meant he had it removed most of the time. If he removed it, then it meant that the wife didn't go with him. Conclusion-he was seeing someone, probably the black girl you found a picture of. The wife found out, and got jealous. Most women tend to be jealous and very hurt when their husband cheats on them" he said, and kept a gaze on Anderson.

"How much poison was there in his system?" Irene asked Molly, who was watching the pair carefully.

"Umm, only small amounts. Enough to kill him, but it took a while for the autopsy to pick it up."

Irene nodded. "I suppose she gave him something he was allergic to, and slipped small amounts of poison into it, making sure that it would seem like a normal allergic reaction."

"The poison was just extra insurance" Sherlock added. "It was supposed to kill him if the allergy didn't".

He looked at Irene. "Nice work" he said, his façade slipping. He couldn't help the slight warmth that crept into his voice when he spoke to her, even though he was supposed to sound cold and unaffected.

She smirked at him. "Not too bad yourself, Mr Holmes."

He raised an eyebrow at her. _Now_ she chose to flirt?

The others were observing the banter incredulously. Sherlock seemed to feel…affection for this woman? Since when was Sherlock interested in women?

Lestrade was the first to break the silence. He cleared his throat. "Thanks Sherlock. And umm…Catherine" he said, wondering if he should address her by her last name. He wondered what it was.

Sherlock nodded. "Good day" he said, and left the room. Lestrade and Molly followed, Molly looking slightly shocked. Sally turned to go, and saw that Anderson had stayed behind.

He smiled warmly at Irene. "I am Anderson" he greeted, sticking out his hand. Irene took it without hesitation and squeezed it. She saw Sherlock watching her from the other room, and winked at him.

"That was really good" he added, when she didn't say anything in reply.

She smiled. "Thank you. I'm quite new at this, but I have a great teacher."

Anderson frowned slightly. "Ahh, you mean Sherlock…well, I suppose he can make strange first impressions."

Irene arched her brow.

"He does tend to repel most women you see" Anderson filled in, once again annoyed by her silence. "Some say the man has never even had sex!"

He realised when he said that that comment was probably far too much, but Irene laughed. A lovely tinkling laugh.

"Anyways, I'm here if you're interested" Anderson added, smiling.

But Catherine simply smirked at him.

"Thank you for the offer" she said, and glanced at Sherlock, whose face currently resembled a thunderstorm. She smirked. So much for him always being able to keep his emotions in check.

"But, I'm taken" she said simply, seeing Anderson's look of disappointment. "And I am not looking for anything to pass the time" she added, making sure he got her full meaning.

She smiled, and leaned in to whisper in Anderson's ear.

"And there is one thing you got wrong." She said, and paused for effect.

"I'm fairly sure that Sherlock Holmes has had sex before."

With that she winked at Anderson.

"Pleasure to meet you" she said, and left the room, leaving Anderson and sally staring after her, completely and utterly bewildered at the implications of her statement.

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**Hope you enjoyed, and please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Last chapter guys! Happy reading!**

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_Sherlock nodded. "Good day" he said, and left the room. Lestrade and Molly followed, Molly looking slightly shocked. Sally turned to go, and saw that Anderson had stayed behind._

_He smiled warmly at Irene. "I am Anderson" he greeted, sticking out his hand. Irene took it without hesitation and squeezed it. She saw Sherlock watching her from the other room, and winked at him._

"_That was really good" he added, when she didn't say anything in reply._

_She smiled. "Thank you. I'm quite new at this, but I have a great teacher."_

_Anderson frowned slightly. "Ahh, you mean Sherlock…well, I suppose he can make strange first impressions."_

_Irene arched her brow. _

"_He does tend to repel most women you see" Anderson filled in, once again annoyed by her silence. "Some say the man has never even had sex!" _

_He realised when he said that that comment was probably far too much, but Irene laughed. A lovely tinkling laugh._

"_Anyways, I'm here if you're interested" Anderson added, smiling._

_But Catherine simply smirked at him._

"_Thank you for the offer" she said, and glanced at Sherlock, whose face currently resembled a thunderstorm. She smirked. So much for him always being able to keep his emotions in check._

"_But, I'm taken" she said simply, seeing Anderson's look of disappointment. "And I am not looking for anything to pass the time" she added, making sure he got her full meaning. _

_She smiled, and leaned in to whisper in Anderson's ear._

"_And there is one thing you got wrong." She said, and paused for effect._

"_I'm fairly sure that Sherlock Holmes has had sex before."_

_With that she winked at Anderson._

"_Pleasure to meet you" she said, and left the room, leaving Anderson and sally staring after her, completely and utterly bewildered at the implications of her statement._

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he and Irene exited the morgue. "So much for keeping it subtle" he said coolly, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Someone had to tell Anderson not to make more of an idiot of himself than he already is" Irene retorted. "And apparently, you were too busy being _subtle_-"

"Anderson is an idiot and that cannot be helped" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, his dislike for the forensics detective having gone down even further.

"Well, someone had to make him stop flirting with me. And seeing that you decided not to-"

"Because I was trying to keep up the act!"

"Ahh, so if I would have let Anderson kiss me, and invite me over to his place because you were trying to keep up the act, nobody would have stopped me, yes?"

"Yes!" said Sherlock, sounding slightly exasperated. Suddenly he realised he had just said. "_No_!" he added, but it was too late and the damage was done. Irene smirked at him, knowing she had managed to beat him, again.

"Fine." She said, teasing him. "I'll just go over and tell Anderson that I accept his offer and-"

"_What_ offer exactly?"

Irene arched her brow, wondering if Sherlock was only pretending to be ignorant to tease her or if he genuinely didn't know.

"Well the offer to sleep with him, obviously" she said. "I must say, sergeant Donovan didn't look too pleased at the fact, I'm guessing that she was the one he was having an affair with before, but-"

She broke off at the look on Sherlock's face. Apparently, he hadn't heard Anderson's exact words at the morgue, and had assumed that Anderson wouldn't make a move so quickly. Sherlock's face might have been controlled (or fairly controlled anyway) but in his eyes there was absolute fury.

"He offered you what?" he asked slowly. Irene raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to keeping it subtle?"

"Subtle when he said _that_? I'm glad I didn't hear exactly what he said, because otherwise he would definitely stay at that hospital. In a coma".

"Oh, but that would have ruined the act Sherlock!" Irene cried, trying not to laugh. "And that would have been such a shame!"

"Minx!" Sherlock muttered under his breath, but eventually joined in Irene's laughter.

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Back in the morgue, Molly, Lestrade, Sally and Anderson were in something that one might call shock.

"Who was that woman?" Molly asked. She had to admit she felt slightly jealous. Sherlock never gave her the time of day, and she had been trying for _years_.

Lestrade shook his head. "I have no idea who she was. He didn't even mention her last name."

There was some silence, all of them trying to process the news that Sherlock might possibly be in a relationship. That was something they had always seen as impossible.

"How can the freak even be in a relationship?" Sally asked. "I mean, none of us can really put up with him, how can someone possibly manage for a longer length of time?"

"Well, John seems to be managing pretty well" Lestrade said thoughtfully, slightly irritated at what Sally had said. He understood her resentment towards Sherlock, even he couldn't really imagine being around Sherlock for a longer amount of time without punching him. But the way Sally spoke about him was just plain cruel sometimes.

Anderson just shook his head.

"He did act rather unaffected at the beginning…" he said in a slimy voice.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "Sure he did, but this is Sherlock. I can't say I've ever seen that much emotion in his eyes when he looks at a person. Ever. Not even John."

"He did almost have feelings for a woman once, I think." Molly said quietly. Everyone's head shot up at the news. Molly looked surprised by the attention.

"Well come on then!" Sally said, when Molly didn't say anything. "What happened? Who was it?"

"I …I don't know", Molly said. "I'm not sure he had feelings for her, but I'm certain that he knew her…_intimately_, somehow."

Lestrade frowned puzzled, while Anderson laughed. "Sherlock know someone intimately?" he said, and even Sally smirked. "Tell me this is a joke".

"He had to identify a body of a woman" Molly said, ignoring Anderson's laughter. "The face was all bashed up, but it was still easy to identify the facial features. He asked to see her whole body, and only then did he identify her."

Anderson's laughter cut off suddenly.

"Whose body was it?" Sally said, sounding shocked once again.

Molly shrugged. "I don't know…they never properly said."

Lestrade sighed. "The man's a mystery" he said. "Trying to figure him out will only make our heads hurt."

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Irene only stayed at the flat for three more days. It was clear that both she and Sherlock needed a bit of time away from each other. They were always trying to best each other, even though a relationship was supposed to be about equality. John supposed that that was one side effect of having two ambitious and very clever people in one room together for over a week.

Although the tension between Irene and Sherlock rose with every extra day, John never doubted their affection for one another. Sherlock was now naturally protective of Irene, and showed feeling when he was around her. Proper feeling, and something that could only be described as gentleness and sweetness. If this wasn't Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, John would almost call it cute.

He knew better than to say that aloud to them though, because they would kill him. They would never call their relationship cute, sometimes they almost refused to admit that they had a relationship.

John couldn't really understand it.

What did frustrate him though, was that Sherlock had managed to have a longer relationship with a woman than he had ever managed. Sarah was nice, and so were the other girls John had gone out with, but if he was honest with himself, then he couldn't really see himself settling into a proper relationship with them.

Then again, the relationship Sherlock and Irene had could hardly be described as normal or proper. Relationships were based on trust, and although Sherlock trusted Irene and she him, there was still a slight level of fear between them, the 'what if' notion. Slowly however, that unease was completely starting to fade.

Equality was another case. Irene and Sherlock were equals in wit and intelligence, but that only made the two of them compete with each other more. Both of them were dominant types of people, and had strong characters, not to mention that they were both very stubborn. John always ran out of the house when they began one of their battle of wits.

Finally, they didn't see each other all that often. John had no doubt that they corresponded though, either by Skype or by texting.

He sighed to himself. In retrospect, Irene and Sherlock's relationship was a bit more normal than he had first thought. He supposed he still had the 'consulting detective falls in love with dominatrix and wanted (supposedly dead) criminal' argument up his sleeve.

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Sherlock went to the airport with Irene, and John didn't go with him. He knew that this was a private moment for the two of them, and didn't want to interrupt. He wished he could take photos though, it would be very useful to have something he could tease (or eventually blackmail) Sherlock with.

Sherlock had to admit that he felt sad at letting Irene go. He knew that though they had their arguments occasionally, he would miss her a lot. He supposed he would probably fly over to New Zealand soon.

Irene smiled at him, already perfectly disguised, wearing her wig and mask. He kissed her once, and she smiled at him.

He watched her while she walked through the terminal gate and sighed to himself, waiting for the text that was about to come. He smiled when the phone vibrated against his thigh.

He smiled to himself, turned up his coat collar and walked out of the airport.

He seemed happy and carefree.

He had no idea that his whole life was about to change.

_The end_

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**Hope you all liked it! Soooo, that's this story finished, thank you sooooooo much for all the positive feedback, it was a huge help and inspiration! Stay tuned for the sequel!**

**Laura xxx**


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